Page 62 of Reaper
I touch the spot where her lips were, grinning like an idiot. "If that's what good luck feels like, I might need to start gambling again."
She laughs, and the sound does something to my chest that I'm not ready to think about too hard. We climb out of the car and head toward the entrance, the smell of garlic and ginger hitting us before we even reach the door.
"Alright," she says, stopping just outside. "When we get in there, just play dumb. Act natural." She pauses, with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Actually, for you, those might be the same thing."
"Hey — "
But she cuts me off by grabbing the front of my jacket and pulling me down for another kiss, this one longer, her lips soft and warm against mine. When she pulls back, I'm pretty sure I've forgotten how to breathe.
"Now I'm ready," she says, straightening her hair.
The hostess, a tired-looking woman in her fifties, barely glances up from her seating chart before leading us through the crowded dining room. The place is loud, filled with the clatter of dishes and rapid-fire conversations in what I assume is Mandarin. She seats us at a small table near the back, and I immediately notice we're sandwiched between two very different groups.
To our left sits a table of four men in expensive suits, their conversation low and serious. One of them has gold teeth that catch the light when he talks, and there's something about the way they sit — backs straight, eyes constantly scanning the room — that screams power. The guys who kill with a gesture or a nod.
To our right, a group of elderly Chinese women are sharing what looks like enough food to feed a small army. They're chattering away, gesturing with their chopsticks, occasionally bursting into laughter.
Adriana picks up her menu, but I can see her head cocked slightly, her attention focused somewhere beyond the list of dumplings. After a moment, she leans across the table, close enough that her breath tickles my ear.
"The old ladies think you have a nice ass," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "They're debating whether you work out or if it's just good genetics."
Heat floods my face, and I feel my cheeks burn.
"They're not wrong," she adds, her lips brushing against my earlobe. "I think so too."
That's it. She's trying to make me lose my shit in public, and if I let her keep whispering translations of geriatric commentary about my body parts, I'm going to either die of embarrassment or start laughing loud enough to blow our cover.
Or take her down a back hallway and stop her commentary by shoving my face between her legs and giving her something to scream about.
But since we’re on the job, and this is important not just to me and her, but to keeping Ruslan Volkov from coming after Susan and the ladies at Never Again, I’ll have to think of something else to keep her focused.
I slide my hand behind her neck and pull her toward me, crushing my mouth against hers. This isn't the sweet, luck-wishing kiss from the car or the playful one outside. This isdeep and desperate, the kind of kiss that makes everything else disappear. I pour everything into it—my frustration, my desire, my need to shut her up before she makes me completely lose control.
When I finally pull back, she's staring at me with wide eyes, her lips slightly parted, color flooding her cheeks in a way that makes me want to kiss her all over again.
I can't help but grin and give her a wink. "There. Now you're focused."
She takes a shaky breath, touching her lips with her fingertips. Then she leans forward again, her voice barely a whisper. "Holy shit, Reaper. Everyone saw that." Her eyes dart around the room. "The old ladies are practically fanning themselves, and those Triad guys? They're… oh, fuck… they’re jealous, but not of you. Of me."
I raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
Her mouth twitches like she's trying not to smile. "I mean, they're jealous of me. Two of them just said they wish they were in my seat right now. One of them said he’d rather be eating your… um… yeah, he’d rather be enjoying you than dim sum right now."
"Very funny," I start to protest, but something makes me glance over my shoulder toward the table of suits.
One guy — younger than the others, with slicked-back hair — catches my eye and blows me a fucking kiss.
I give him a nod, then whip my head back around to stare at Adriana, my eyes probably the size of dinner plates.
And she giggles.
Actually giggles, like some schoolgirl with a crush, her hand covering her mouth as her shoulders shake with silent laughter.
"Did he just — " I whisper.
"Oh yeah," she breathes back, still fighting the giggles. "And the old lady at the corner table wants to know if you have a brother."
"Oh, fuck me."
